Kael’s fracture was widening before their eyes.
Uncontrollable.
The torrent of Elan it released was becoming unbearable — and potentially lethal for any Latent standing too close.
In the stands, Velara, Lucanis, and Althéa watched the fracture with tense intensity.
The Queen had returned to her white marble throne, beside the King, who stared at the fracture without blinking.
A living statue.
The Dean, who had briefly stepped away to coordinate the evacuation with the Revealed, had just returned to the heart of the Coliseum.
He climbed the steps toward the throne, then knelt, head bowed.
Althéa watched him.
I hope there won’t be consequences for him…
They let it slide during the survival lesson, but if Kael’s fracture causes real damage… his position as Dean is compromised for sure.
The King made a simple gesture with his hand, allowing him to rise, without taking his eyes off the fracture.
The Dean stood, gave a brief bow, then joined the three students.
He approached in small steps, his forehead glistening with sweat, his face far more tired than usual. Sweat shining on his brow, his features marked by effort and concern.
His white tunic was stained with mud, his scars deeper than ever.
When he reached them, he paused and declared, relieved:
“Bearer Althéa, Bearer Lucanis… you are safe. You have completed your trial.
I am sincerely glad.”
His tone was genuine, tinged with almost paternal relief.
Althéa and Lucanis bowed respectfully.
His once-pristine white tunic was now smeared with dust and mud.
Even his scars seemed tightened, as though they too bore the weight of age and strain.
Velara stepped closer.
“Did the evacuation go smoothly?”
The Dean nodded.
“Yes. All the Latents in the area have been secured.”
He then turned his gaze back to the fracture.
His face hardened.
Althéa was tapping her foot. Nervous.
Her tic had returned.
“What the hell is he doing, seriously?” she muttered.
Lucanis answered in a neutral tone:
“He’s used to doing supernatural things, but this… I have to admit, he’s overdoing it.”
Velara slowly shook her head.
“I don’t understand how this is possible…”
She turned to the Dean.
“Has this ever happened? A fracture of this magnitude?”
The Dean shook his head gravely.
“Never. At least… not since I’ve held this position. And there’s nothing in the records.
No mention of variation in size or intensity of Elan linked to a bearer’s fracture.”
“This is unprecedented,” he murmured.
“Honestly…” Velara sighed.
“Lucanis climbed the highest mountain in the world — according to him.
Althéa literally stopped a war.”
She gestured vaguely toward the fracture.
“And him… this is what he triggers…”
She crossed her arms, irritated.
“What could he possibly be facing to cause this… The universe, maybe?”
Her tone was ironic.
But no one smiled.
((Error… anomaly detected.))
What? Kael thought.
He was floating in complete darkness.
But this time, it wasn’t a metaphysical void or a zone of mental silence.
No.
He could feel his body in free fall.
As if he were plunging into a bottomless abyss.
And the voice returned. Inhuman. Flat.
((Trameless individual… anomaly.))
What is that voice? Kael thought, his heart accelerating.
And suddenly, a white flash.
Blinding.
Everything exploded in his vision.
Velara was staring intensely at the fracture.
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It pulsed.
Suddenly, something burst from it at tremendous speed and slammed into the Coliseum stands with a monstrous crash.
The King lowered his gaze slowly toward what had just emerged.
Right at the bottom of the steps where he stood.
His eyes were fixed. Intense. Unmoving.
“It’s Kael!” Velara shouted.
“He’s out!”
Lucanis, Althéa, Velara, and the Dean rushed toward him.
Kael rose slowly.
His body covered in dust.
And blood.
His clothes were not his own:
a white shirt, without collar or buttons.
Trousers cut off just above the knees.
And shoes… strange, of an unfamiliar style.
He didn’t even look at them.
His eyes were black.
Locked onto his own fracture, as though it were the only thing that mattered.
In his hand, a saber.
Althéa approached cautiously.
“…Kael?”
He turned toward them. Slowly.
His gaze was heavy with hatred.
Glacial.
Then he spoke, in a voice they had never heard from him before.
Cold. Hard. Cutting.
“It’s not over yet. And don’t you dare interfere with what comes next.”
A shiver ran down Althéa’s spine.
She stepped back instinctively.
Lucanis swallowed.
Velara raised her hands, a strained smile on her lips.
“What are you even talking about…?”
Kael didn’t answer.
He turned on his heel.
And jumped into the arena.
His body split the air.
He landed in the sand.
The sand did not crunch beneath his feet. Nothing. Silence.
Control.
Kael walked slowly toward the fracture.
His gaze cold.
Calculating.
((E R R O R.))
He stopped abruptly.
Shut up, he thought irritably.
((Non-compliant individual. Total anomaly…))
Kael clenched his teeth.
His brow furrowed.
The pressure, the voice, the constant tension — everything intensified.
Then, suddenly, he bent forward and screamed:
“SHUT THE HELL UP!!!”
Absolute silence answered him.
The voice had fallen silent.
Completely.
As if erased by the violence of his will.
He caught his breath.
Fixed his gaze back on the fracture.
And then…
A female silhouette stepped out.
Light.
Self-assured.
Each step perfectly placed in the sand.
A predatory smile stretched across her face.
Kael did not move.
He stared at her.
A silhouette emerged slowly from the fracture.
Velara gasped, unable to look away.
“What… what the hell is this?”
The Dean spoke as well, his voice broken, confused.
“Something… is coming out of the fracture. Impossible.”
Lucanis, both hands gripping the railing, stared at the figure intensely.
His once-weary eyes became those of a predator again.
“There’s something… wrong,” he said under his breath.
“That woman… My instinct is screaming that she’s dangerous.”
Althéa was trembling.
Her breath short, her throat tight.
“What did he do…?”
In the arena, Kael kept walking.
Step after step.
Resolute.
Implacable.
Toward the woman who had just stepped out of the fracture.
And then the King, silent since the beginning, stood up.
With a slow, powerful movement.
The Queen turned toward him, stunned.
“My King? What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer.
He hadn’t even heard her.
He was already descending the steps.
Straight. Silent. Piercing gaze.
His attention entirely fixed on Kael.
The woman advanced slowly.
And behind her, the fracture closed, with a final dull exhale.
Althéa inhaled sharply, a deep breath, as if the disappearance of the fracture had finally restored balance to the world.
She staggered slightly, her legs nearly giving way.
In the arena, Kael and the woman had stopped.
Five meters separated them.
Each locked in the other’s gaze.
Still.
Electric.
The woman spoke first.
Her voice was clear, dripping with sarcasm.
“So tell me, my little rascal… What exactly do you plan to do without Elan?”
Kael didn’t answer.
He simply stared at her.
Straight. Silent. Unbreakable.
She continued, false regret in her tone:
“Unfortunately… you left the Trial without making a choice. So no Trame for you. Which means: no access to Divine Ichor.”
Kael allowed himself a faint smile.
Subtle.
Dark.
Velara stared at Kael.
Silent.
Eyes narrowed.
She focused inward, probing his subconscious. — probing, digging, searching again.
And she reached a conclusion.
A terrible conclusion.
“She’s not lying,” she said, voice shaken.
“He… he has no Trame.”
The Dean turned toward her, incredulous.
“Impossible. You must be mistaken. You can’t leave a Trial without a Trame. That’s… that’s the rule!”
Velara searched again, as if to prove herself wrong.
But nothing.
Not the slightest trace.
She stammered, stunned:
“I confirm it. No Trame.”
Kael finally spoke.
Calm.
But with that cold hardness now embedded in his voice.
“I may not have a Trame. But I’ve developed a rather annoying habit lately…”
He took a step forward.
“The habit of bending the system until it aligns with my will.”
He paused, staring straight into her eyes.
“Proof? You’re here. If you came out of that fracture… it’s because I must have seriously messed up the Trial.”
The woman smiled.
A wicked smile.
She understood where he was going.
Kael continued, more grave:
“So if I truly want access to Elan… I don’t have a choice.”
He raised his saber slightly.
“I’m going to repeat the experiment. And definitively reach the Velasquez Limit.”
Althéa frowned, confused.
“The Velasquez Limit?” she repeated aloud.
She turned to Lucanis.
But he didn’t move.
He was still staring at the woman.
As if he hadn’t even heard.
Althéa sought Velara’s gaze.
“You know what that is…?”
Velara slowly shook her head, visibly troubled.
“I… I don’t know. I’ve never heard of it.”
Althéa looked toward the Dean.
But he shook his head as well.
Lost.
None of them understood.
Kael sighed.
Deeply.
Then thought inwardly, acid in his tone:
Annoying voice…
Aren’t you supposed to be managing my Trame?
The response fell, mechanical:
((Error… individual not a Bearer of a Trame… anomaly.))
Kael lifted his head, and this time, he spoke aloud.
Clear.
Firm.
Without trembling.
“Give me access to Elan.”
((Non-compliant individual.))
He clenched his teeth.
His eyes burned.
“Give me my Elan. Now.”
((E R R O R.))
His fists tightened until they bled.
Then he screamed, throat strained, the cry driven by his entire will:
“GIVE ME MY ELAN!!”
Silence.
Absolute.
Then the voice returned.
Slower.
Fragmented.
Malfunctioning.
((A
N
O
M
A
L
Y.))
The woman chuckled mockingly.
“You think screaming very loudly is going to get you what you want? That’s adorable. A big baby throwing a tantrum…”
((System… forced…Error… anomaly…))
A silence fell in his head.
((Access: unlocked.))
A faint tremor rippled through the entire arena…
And stopped immediately.
Kael felt his entire body heat up to an extreme.
As if every cell were about to burn.
He lifted his head.
His gaze was calm.
Glacial.
“You see, Guardian… If there’s one thing I’m certain of…”
((Dominant Trait: found…))
Kael continued:
“…It’s that today, I can move forward without the slightest doubt.”
((Dominant Trait : …))
A red and black aura burst from him.
A brutal torrent.
Dark.
Unstable.
A raw force. Violent. Primal.
He continued, voice still steady:
“I’ll prevail.”
“And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
((…Lucifer Complex.))
((Ontological refusal of submission.))
